Disturbia (to be deleted soon)
by Kinui
Summary: Check out the author's note.
1. Prologue

Prologue

**Disturbia **n. (dĭ-stûrb'ē-ə)

_The feeling of dread or shock that comes with the realization that something that is usually considered normal and safe is, in fact, horribly dangerous or wrong._

* * *

I can't say I was exactly surprised at the situation I found myself in. That is, on top of a tall building with a gun in my mouth. The location – Royal and General Bank – was ironic, to say the least. Ironic, yet fitting. It was in so many ways the place where I was born; created at least, and it seemed that it would be the place I would die as well. This prospect didn't exactly bother me. It's not that I welcomed the thought of death; no, I wasn't that morbid - but it was more of a weary resignation to it. Whichever way the dice rolled, I would accept its outcome and go with it. That _is_ how I survived the last four years of my existence after all. It _was_ a bit off putting that the one who was currently shoving the gun in my mouth was no other than my closestfriend Tom Harris.

Aah, poor Tom. He was never meant to be mixed up in all this. But then, was I? It seemed that Lady Fate took no discretion when it came to meddling in the lives of innocent children. True, it was all the fault of that damn uncle of mine. But then, he would have never had to take me in if Ash didn't have to go and blow up my parents. Of course, Scorpia were the people behind that one. So, truly, my whole existence was because of them. Hmm, that was an interesting prospect. I had never really thought of it like that before.

I suppose I can't really blame Ian. My life had been good with him. Sure, he was gone half the time, but that really wasn't his fault. And he _did_ love me. We had been close. Then Yassen had to come into the picture and screw everything up.

My Life and My Existence. _Yes_, they are two completely different things. I like to landmark them as 'before the 'crash' and 'after the 'crash.' Not that there was any actual crash of course. Well, I suppose that there might have been one after the volley bullets ripped through the car's metal frame and through the flesh and bone of my uncle. So yes; the 'crash.' My Life had been fairly normal; at least as normal as it could have been with my upbringing. It was simplistic and I was content. I died when my Existence started. Well, _I _didn'tdie. _I _was born. Alex was the one who died. It took me awhile to realize it, but when I did, everything became so much easier. I no longer had to think about my morality. I just did what I was told like a good, little spy. Alex was the one who worried about killing, about differentiating wrong from right. That didn't matter to me; I did what I had to, to finish the job just as quickly as I could. Sure, I didn't go around blasting innocents left and right- I wasn't _that _corrupt – but a random guard here or there who got in my way, someone who knew too much and endangered the mission. Well, it was to be expected. It was my job to finish whatever I started and that's what I did. Of course, I still went by the name Alex. Alex Rider. But that wasn't me. I'm not really sure who I am now.

I moved my thoughts back to the more immediate concerns. Tilting my head slightly, I looked at my friend. Dear Tom. I felt bad for him. He looked so tired, so worn. His face was hardened and cold, but now I could see that he just wanted it to be over. So similar to me, yet still so different. We had been through so many things, it didn't seem quite fair. I could see the hope still in his eyes. It was there, burning bright as ever, thinking that maybe, maybe something would happen. Maybe it would be all right. I admired that about him. Even after all this, he still believed there was something better. Something reachable. He didn't _want_ to die. I could see that, but he was desperate; desperate and tired. He just couldn't find any other way out. And to be truthful, neither could I. So, he decided to end it all himself. But he was scared. He didn't want to go alone, so he was taking me with him. Not that I blame him, he was certain he was doing me a favor as well. Besides, I am so sick of blaming people. And I was tired too. I wouldn't mind going to sleep…finally.

My mind wandered again. I somehow found it comforting - in a morbid, grotesque kind of way- that I would die the same death as my father. Sure, the circumstances were different but we both will have died in the same way; by the hand of our best friend. I suddenly found myself forgiving Ash. After all, who knows what he was thinking when he planted that bomb. Perhaps he thought he had good reasons as well. Maybe in a few minutes I could ask him myself.

But what did that matter anymore? They were all dead anyway. _My Parents, Ian, Ash, Jack. _Everyone_. _Hell, even Blunt was dead. Funny that. The head of MI6, the mastermind of the whole organization, the person who had destroyed my Life (_and _my Existence), _that damned lying bastard, _was killed by a trucker. A stinking, drunken _trucker, _on the way home. Aah well, _good riddance._ He deserved to die in such a humiliating fashion. It was only fitting. I only wish I had been there to see it…or maybe been the one to run him down…

"Sorry, Alex." Tom's quiet voice broke though my reverie. I looked over at him from the corner of my eye and shrugged, trying to move my tongue in a more comfortable position around the gun. My ears were ringing as I suddenly registered the nark of sirens from below. I could see the red and blue lights flashing across the wall of the building opposite. Tom would have to hurry up and get it over with. I suppose that anyone else would find the noise of the sirens welcome, a hope that perhaps they might be saved. Me; I just found them annoying. Hell, maybe I would pull the trigger myself just to get the ringing out of my brain. I saw a news van coming down the street. Wow, they were making a big deal about this. For all they knew, we were just a couple of teenagers who couldn't hack it anymore. Well, Tom was. I was his only friend and he decided to bring me with him. That's how they would portray him. That's how the world would remember him. Tom Harris – the murderer. In that moment, I wanted to reverse our roles. Me be the one holding a gun in his mouth. Tom wasn't a murderer. He was a good person. He was just that goofy kid who had always been by my side no matter what, after everyone had turned their backs on me, after they had turned their backs on him just for being my friend. I didn't want him to be remembered badly. I brought my gaze back over to my friend and saw him staring at me. He looked like he was about to cry, but desperately holding back, trying to appear brave. He _was_ brave. Tom was the bravest person I knew. I wished I could tell him that but the gun in my mouth made that impossible.

Something changed in his eyes then, and I knew he wouldn't do it. He had thought that he could pull the trigger, kill me. But he couldn't. I knew that. He knew that. And he pulled the gun out of my mouth.

We stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then he turned away. He knelt and placed the gun very carefully on the ground and stood back up. I knew what he was saying with that gesture. He was inviting me to come with him. He would jump; and then I could blow my brains out myself.

I watched as Tom took a few steps forward, his toes hanging over the edge of the building. By now someone was shouting through a megaphone at us. I didn't hear what they were saying though. I didn't listen. Whatever it was, it didn't matter.

"Do you think…" Tom spoke softly to me, his eyes downcast towards the little people below. "Do you think there's something after this, Alex? Something more…something better?"

I was silent, watching my childhood friend as he was about to kill himself. I was suddenly very aware of how precariously he was balanced over the street below. Tom looked back at me over his shoulder. His eyes were glassy and I could hear the desperation bordering on hysteria layering his voice. "Do you?"

I thought about it seriously for a few moments, bringing my gaze to the stars above. Did I believe that there was something waiting for us after all this?

"I don't know, Tom." I replied, shaking my head very slowly back and forth. I glanced down, unable to hold his stare. My eyes rested on the pistol at my feet. I knelt down and took the gun in my hand, the metal cold in my palm. I stood up slowly, staring at the black object held loosely in my grip. The cold spread from my hand and moved across my body. I suddenly realized how very cold I actually was. It was a freezing night and all I wore was jeans and a t-shirt.

It was funny; how everything was snapping into place, one piece at a time. Each part making up the whole, bringing it all into focus. I felt like I had been in shock, and slowly, slowly I was coming out of it; realizing exactly what was happening here on this cold, dark night. Realizing exactly why we were standing here atop a building, looking down.

I pulled my eyes away from the gun and looked back up to Tom. The events that led to this moment all flooded back to me like a tidal wave.

"Do you really want to find out just yet?"


	2. A Semblance of Normalcy

_Previously…_

_I pulled my eyes away from the gun and looked back up to Tom. The events that led to this moment all flooded back to me like a tidal wave…_

_

* * *

  
_

_Three Years Prior…_

_Bang!_

The guard fell dead at my feet, blood already leaking out of the tidy little hole in his forehead. My body suddenly froze on its own accord, and I stared at the corpse with a mixture of shock and a sudden burst of self-loathing …_No_.._.Don't think about it, don't think about it_… I breathed in deeply and moved past the corpse, reloading my gun as I went. If I hadn't shot him, I would be the one dirtying the floor right now. All in the name of justice, right?…Justice? No, that wasn't right. All in the name of MI6. Yes, that was better.

I exited the building and saw my objective across the courtyard. Making my way to the large, red double-doors, I unceremoniously pushed them open and entered the gym. There he was, that sniveling coward, trying to escape through the back.

"I believe that way is locked, Mr. Budwinsky." I inwardly flinched at the name. It's pretty difficult to sound hardcore when saying that sort-of name. I pull my gun hand up and pointed the pistol in the man's general direction.

"Please, please!" he wailed, spinning around to face me. He threw his arms over his face and cowered against the wall, instantly turning into a sniveling mess. Not so big and bad now that _you're _the one with a gun all up in your face, huh?

"You..you don't understand! I..I did it for my family! We needed the money! Yes, the money! My wife..she's..she's in the hospital! And, we just…just.." He continued on, whimpering something or other about terminal cancer and starving children.

_Oh,_ how utterly _tragic._

I think I'll go cry in the corner now…Moron.

Besides, I knew all about this guy. He was a bachelor with a penthouse in London.

I crossed the gymnasium and jammed the gun under his chin, ignoring him as his piteous rambling turned into garbled moans. I unclipped the radio from my pocket and brought it up to my mouth.

"Target secure, bring in the chopper. Over."

"Confirmed. Coming in. Out."

MI6 had informed me just a few days prior that they would have my transportation out of here on stand-by, ready as soon as I signaled for them. Apparently this guy knew information they were eager to have.

I pulled the sniveling man away from the wall and trapped his arms behind his back, holding both his wrists in one hand while continuing to hold the gun up in the other. I dragged him up to the roof, where I could see the helicopter heading over. As it neared, the noise mercifully drowned out the man's whimpers. Thank God. I swear I would have had no trouble putting a bullet in his head right then and there.

The helicopter landed and we boarded.

Mission Complete.

* * *

"Well done Alex, as usual." Alan Blunt peered at me over his hideously bland glasses. "Peter Budwinski is in our custody and we will soon have a full confession from him; our interrogators are certain of that."

It was the afternoon of the day after my return. I had stayed the previous night in a hotel while awaiting further instructions, but Blunt seemed happy with the capture of Budwinski and they brought me back just this morning. The mission had been surprisingly easy, at least compared to what I'm used to. It lasted only two weeks, and my cover was simply as a school kid. Budwinski was the vice-principle at said school and I simply had to observe him until I was sure of his suspicious activities. Honestly, he was the most pathetic, sloppy, hopeless bad guy I've ever dealt with. From what I gathered, he was involved in some drug smuggling; hiding the drugs in little Virgin Mary statues and flying them out across the world. I wasn't sure of all the details but MI6 wanted him, and I stopped questioning them long ago.

"…once again Alex, we couldn't be happier with your success. We will call when we require you again." I stared blankly at Blunt. I dropped the "Mr." a long time ago. The man wasn't worthy of such respect. I noticed lately that he, and Mrs. Jones, seemed fixed on showering me with compliments and comments on "how great a job I've done," and how, "I'm one of their most successful agents." I think that they felt if they were to keep me feeling good about it all, I was less likely to up and ditch them. Of course, it's kinda hard to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings when listen to Blunt's oh-so-monotone voice.

I accepted the dismissal without a word and left the office. All I wanted to do was get home, see Jack, and fall into bed. This mission wasn't really all that taxing, not at all, but I think it was more of a mind thing. I expected to be exhausted after a mission so my body made me. Besides, tomorrow was Monday. I would be going back to school, and I would need to be as top shape as I could manage for that.

The sun was just setting when I arrived home that night. I had to knock at the door because I forgot to pick up my keys before leaving the Bank. When Jack opened it, she didn't light up with joy, or start frantically hugging me as she used to do. No, even she was past that. She just smiled lovingly, wearily, and put an arm around my shoulder as she led me inside. We exchanged a few words. She avoided all mentions of MI6. After a few minutes, I went up to my room and fell asleep the minute I hit the bed.

* * *

"Psst….psst….Alex!" I sighed through my gritted teeth as I felt a wad of paper bounce off of my head. I finally relented and turned slightly to glare at Tom. As grumpy as I was that day, I couldn't help but feel glad to see my annoying, immature friend again. Tom raised his eyebrows and raised his hands in a sort of "Where've you been?" way. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the front of the class, where I noticed the teacher, Mr. Fenwick, glaring at us but continuing with the lesson.

I had arrived late this morning. Jack had taken up a part-time job at a nearby nursery to bring in some extra money, and I forgot to set an alarm, so I overslept and ended up running into class just as it was starting; which needless to say the teacher didn't appreciate, seeing as I induced whispering all over the classroom he had just managed to quiet down. I handed him the typical doctor's note, pneumonia this time, and he accepted it with only a downward peer from his glasses and a frown.

So there I was in maths class, trying to understand whatever it was the teacher was explaining on the board, when Harley Andrews started to mess with me.

I really didn't know what to make of Harley. He had arrived to Brooklands a little bit after my Stormbreaker mission, the mess that started all this, so I never really had much interaction with him. I knew he was American, clearly by his accent, and that he father was some businessman who got a job here in Chelsea. I knew he didn't do sport or any extracurricular activity, he wasn't tall or strong or particularly good-looking, he seemed fairly average really and yet he somehow managed to fit right in with the popular crowd. From what I saw though, I knew he was a jerk. A big jerk. The 'take the poor nerd's lunch money' kind of jerk. And though he didn't look like he could do anyone much damage himself, he had managed to scrounge up a couple of cronies; you know, the big guys that looked more suited to be in an American football team than in high school.

"Hey Rider," He said to me in a coarse whisper. His voice sounded like a cross between a weasel and a pit-bull with a bad cold. I ignored him and focused on the board.

"Rider!" He said it a little more harshly this time. When I didn't respond, he reached his leg over and kicked my chair. That got us a couple of glances from the class as the teacher was turned towards the board. I stopped myself from grinding my teeth and instead just coolly glared at him. He looked a little taken aback for the moment but then continued.

"So Rider, what's your story this time? Did you fall and get a booboo?" He laughed and looked to his sidekick, Donnie Lewis, for support, who also laughed, a noise which I think sounded like a dying gorilla.

What an idiot. It was people like him that really annoy me. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of making me lose my temper, and the teacher was starting to look again, so I just smiled at him and turned back to the front. He didn't take my apathy very well and tried again.

"Well, you little crybaby? I bet that was nice; sitting in bed for two weeks, huh? Everyone taking care of you. Too bad your uncle wasn't there to read you a bed time story, considering he's six feet under and whatnot."

That was a low blow and Harley knew it. I clenched my fists and might have said something back to him, but at that moment Mr. Fenwick rounded on us and diverted his attention to Harley.

"Mr. Andrews, is there something you would like to share with the class?"

"Uh…" Harley slumped in his chair and dejectedly muttered something or other. The class snickered.

Mr. Fenwick nodded, apparently pleased. I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat for moment as I felt his eyes on me, then he turned back to the board and continued the lesson as if nothing had happened.

"I'll get you later, punk!" Harley growled under his breath as he slouched forward over his desk.

"You do that, Harley," I breathed to myself. I was silently grateful to Mr. Fenwick. He was a pretty strict teacher, but he was fair. I knew of certain others in this school who would have gladly turned all the blame on me.

The rest of the class passed without any more incident, excluding Tom flicking various things at me, trying to get me to pass him a note, which ending in him having his pencil box confiscated till the end of class.

* * *

I filled Tom in on the basics in between classes, which seemed to keep him satisfied until lunch. In the cafeteria, I ran into Harley again. The kid had his goons on either side of him like bodyguards. He was sneering maliciously, a look I had seen on the faces of people wanting to kill me many times before. It made me dislike him even more.

"Well Rider, bet you're glad you had Fenwick in there to save your ass. Wouldn't want to put too much stress on poor, fragile Alex, now would we?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Harley," I replied with a smile, "If you went on like that, it wouldn't be me who would be needing the ass-saving."

His sneer turned to a scowl. He didn't seem used to people standing up to him.

"You better watch yourself, Rider. Just you wait." And with that he turned and marched over to his table, his 'bodyguards' following behind like dedicated puppies.

Tom sighed beside me and frowned.

"I hate that guy. He thinks he owns the place," He grinned suddenly and patted me on the back. "You could probably take him _and_ his cronies out in a second, couldn't you, Al?"

I smiled briefly back at him, when a sudden image filled my vision.

_Bang! The guard fell dead at my feet…_

"…Al? Alex, you okay?"

I looked up to see Tom's concerned face frowning at me. I shook off the sudden flashback that had made me sick to my stomach and just nodded. At that moment, Mark Fellows, an old friend of Tom and mine's, waved us over to a table.

I was welcomed back as we sat. A good feeling. Not everyone had crossed me off as a freak yet. It was a novel feeling; sitting back in the cafeteria, chatting about nothing in particular. Yes, it was a great feeling.

School, Tom, friends, bullies. It was good to feel some semblance of normalcy again. Even if it was only for a little while…

* * *

Here it is! A chapter I promised like half a year ago! Sorry 'bout that -_- I honestly don't have much of an excuse except for laziness, a severe case of writers block, and this chapter just DID NOT want to be written. Seriously. I did not go like I planned, and then I kept on writing a bunch of crap and deleting it all, and starting over and all that not-fun stuffs. :P So yeah, just so you know, I'm still not very happy with it. I don't know about you, but it reads kinda like a filler to me. Just be assured, it is not simply a filler chapter. Everything will play a role in the plot sooner or later. I had half of it finished a long time ago. That first half wrote itself mostly like I wanted it. But I have a commitment to a 2,000 word minimum with posting. So, I told myself I would stya up late and FINISH IT DANG IT! So yeah, here it is. Just so you know, I have decided to leave my other stories on indefinite hiatus, and focus solely on this one cause I actually know where its going (though at this point, I think its begining to not listen to me anymore) and it's my favorite. =D SO yeah. Hope it wasn't absolutely terrible, or a horrible let down after my wonderful responses for the previous chapter.

By the way, thanks to my reviewers. I really like reviews. alot. Like, it inspires me to write. Speaking of which this story has like 32 alerts and there's only 14 reviews. Hmm, something wrong. :\ teehee. Well, I'll stop rambling now and go sleep. Farewell. XD

(*EDIT* Oh, by the way, this chapter starts off with Alex as 16. So the prologue was him as 19. And also, it's gonna prolly take AWHILE to actually get to where the prologue lets off. :D ) ^_^ G'night!


	3. AN

Hello everyone!

So I just want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, liked, or favorited this story, oh what? 3, 4 years ago? I bet it'll be quite a surprise if any of you get a notice saying I posted a new chapter. Well, guess what? Psych!

This is just an author's note which is probably abundantly clear by now.

Anyhow, good news is, I fully intend to go through with this story. I started it on a whim one night when I was fifteen, at a point in my life where I had absolutely no dedication to a thing once the initial excitement wore off (oh wait, has anything changed?) but I have never forgotten it and it has been stewing in the back of my mind for awhile. The "plot" will go in an entirely new direction than I had planned before (planning? what's that?) but that doesn't really effect you since this consists of all of two chapters of like 1,000 words each.

And so, riding off the exhilaration of winning Nanowrimo, and the desire to not stop writing just because the month of November is over, I've decided this is going to be my new project. My initial plan was going to actually complete (or at least, write a good chunk of) the story, so that I knew I wouldn't just write another two chapters and then leave it, but as that's been my plan for the better part of a year, and I've written maybe the equivalent of half a chapter, so that's obviously not working.

SO. You all have a task. You are my accountability partner. When I don't update, YOU WHINE. If I'm just spewing out crap in order to update, YOU POINT OUT ALL MY FLAWS. If I apparently disappear and don't respond to you, YOU CONTINUOUSLY SPAM ME UNTIL I HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO RETURN. (This all working on the assumption that anyone really cares about the fic at all, of course)

And moving on; I plan to repost the first chapter as a new fic (with the same name) by tomorrow. The prologue is basically the same as it currently is on here, but it has been through some major editing and hopefully is better and far less melodramatic than I wrote when I was fifteen. Also, just forget about the second chapter. It never happened. It doesn't exist. Wipe it from your minds.

* * *

If you made it through all this, I applaud you...and then I ask you: why?

Honestly, I'll admit I tend to ramble and write far more than anyone even cares about. I probably could have just said, "Hey y'all, I'm rewriting this story. I'll post tomorrow. Check it out." But instead you get 500 words of me going on about nonsense.

Peace. (be on ye, brethren)


End file.
